I did as she instructed, my new balances squeaking the entire time I headed to the lift foyer. This was one of those modern office buildings, and I didn’t need to press a single button for the elevator to work.
I was thoroughly impressed and even let out an amused hum as the elevator arrived on the ground floor. I entered the mirrored little box. I wouldn't have known I was awake, because vampires don’t have reflections in mirrors. That was commonknowledge, right? It was news to me at first, and I freaked-the-fuck-out.
Olden day vampires had never seen what they became, but modern vamps are spoiled. In our gyms and with special Vampiric socials and apps, we can see ourselves. From enchanted mirrors to modern witch-tech apps, the life of a modern vampire is pretty comfortable.
Between Vampstagram, FangFace and the one app that has sat on my phone way too long, Fang2Bang—a gay vampire dating app. It is sordid—I feel little different from I did as a human. The users on the dating apps are filthy; all want to be bitten and used as blood slaves. They needed an exorcist.
I looked back where I assumed my reflection would normally be, and I pulled faces. I stuck out my tongue and even tempted to pull down my pants just enough to show my ass in the jockstrap I had on. But I resisted as I noticed the camera.
I let the elevator take me to level four, and it wasn’t long until the elevator made a ding and the doors opened.
The level was entirely different from the ground floor foyer.Graves & Penningtonreally lived up to its grave part of its name.
Dreary. Grey. All The same.
My vampiric sight enhanced colours, but even that was no help. Rows upon rows of desks, like it was a graveyard, and each desktop screen was a tombstone. The nameplates on each partition were the only separators for each desk; otherwise, they were identical to a fault. I stepped out, bracing for cubicle hell, and walked straight intohim.
And I meanstraightinto him. Shoulders, chest, hot coffee splashed over both of us. A very startled yelp, not mine as I don’t feel pain from hot liquids. As I apologised, I received a death glare that could’ve fried the flesh off my body met my own.
If I had breath left in my body, he would’ve knocked the wind right out of me.
Tall. Stern. Unsmiling. Hair the colour of bitter espresso—which only made me miss my morning lattes even more. His eyes were darker. Cheekbones that could end wars. Forearms that I would lick and trace his veins. He was the kind of guy you only ever saw yelling at interns in a legal drama or starring in some cheap, piece of crap, gay indie film about an accountant falling for a vampire colleague; they were my secret pleasure.
I was getting carried away and practically walking down the aisle with this man, and I haven’t even introduced myself.
I froze.
My fangs nearly extended as my body detected an attack. My brain short circuiting at how much this man made my bloodless heart pump.
“I assume you are the new hire?” He asked as he brushed off his shirt, flicked his hand and then wiped it on the back of his pants.
His eyes took me in and scanned the coffee damage between us.
“I—uh—yes,” I stammered. I wanted to be suave and attempted to lean, but I almost stumbled and went flying into the cubicle wall near me. “Chase Johnson.VampLinksent me.”
He blinked once. Then again. Slow. Calculated. Judging. Counting his moments.
“Why are you wearing sweatpants? Did you not read Business Casual?”
“I didn’t read the email closely enough…”
“Your shirt says Fanger Pride.”
“Pride is never casual.” I replied solemnly.
He stared at me in pure, undiluted silence.
And then, with a weary sigh of a man who’d already had three coffees, none of which appeared to be strong enough, hesaid, “I’m Miles Penrose. You will report to me. Follow me and try not to bump into anything else.” He pointed between the coffee stains and everything around him.
I immediately let my fingers glide across the fabric of the divider walls as I followed him.
He glared backwards. “I said nothing, Mr Johnson.”
“Oh, sorry.” I sheepishly replied and scratched the back of my head. Some human habits die hard.
He turned sharply at a fork in the dividers, and I followed behind like a lost puppy being lured with a meal.
We passed the rows of desks, my sneakers squeaking with each turn like a rubber chicken at a funeral. Miles didn’t say a word. Just walked.
